Flat Out of Luck
Listening to a brilliant man who is living in his car, I have, in rapid succession, every reaction I deplore in others.
Listening to a brilliant man who is living in his car, I have, in rapid succession, every reaction I deplore in others.
The Great Capitulation has begun. A cynical shrug could entrench it.
The “Candyman” films have a vision for their critiques of exploitative art. For those overcoming experiences with trauma, art immortalizes both pain and healing. These films have messages to tell the world about both, but they also want to have messages about many things.
The truck’s left rear wheel came entirely off the vehicle, which then scraped to a stop on its naked rotor. My passenger noticed this phenomenon at the same moment, then we watched what followed in silent but shared wonder.
Remember folding white paper again and again, then snipping it with blunt scissors to make a snowflake? The magic never ends.
The resemblances of ceramics with human life are poignant. People too get fired in the kilns of experience, and often we emerge flawed or get broken in time. Some are dun, some glazed or crazed, some repaired with stripes of gold. We are all sensuous as pots.
Why the French value dignity and the United States despises it. (Only a slight exaggeration.)
We seem unable to acknowledge the greatness of the 1990s not because we cannot remember its halcyon spirit but because we refuse to.
Do conservative Catholics even realize what inspired these gorgeous vestments?
As with our lives, we must savor the enduring, through time.